I haven't been able to write. No time, no will to. I've felt quite well the past few months. Spent some time on my own which is not exactly possible in my situation. Maybe it's the years of therapy or a perfect pharmaceutical cocktail, but i've been feeling good. Really good. It's bizarre and terrifying as one knows relapse is not an 'if' but a 'when'. The trouble here is i'm incredibly frustrated with myself for not being able to write at all or at least in the few moments I have available to me to write. And I don't want to. I hate that, and this feeling of loss over one of my most treasured feelings. The physical and emotional need to write, anything and everything. It just seems gone. That breaks my heart. Sure I'm better, for everyone else, to everyone else. Everyone prefers this 'version' of me. I know this version is the responsible choice, and I will stick to that choice knowing it is best for all parties. But, I miss feeling so intensely i'd cry. I miss reading something I wrote always as if I was reading it for the first time, as if it was my soul writing it and not my head and I could feel what those words were saying and sometimes others would read it and feel it too. I miss that. I don't even know if it's ever coming back. So I mourn the loss of my will. I morn the fractured heart beats. Though I am angry and upset at this my brain won't let me feel that either. I'm just this shell of what I once was shifting different versions of myself around. Normally this would devastate me but today, I'm good...Labels: bipolar